Author’s note: This installment was predictably the most difficult to write. Length wise - it is far longer than the previous pieces so I hope that I don’t lose you in the detail. The phrases used, both Latin and Italian, I do not define for you, and leave you to your own resources to locate. (Google is recommended.)

Obviously the story between Marco and Annerire is one that won’t be told in so short a time that it takes me to reach the end of this one violent action. The story has even taken a bit of a turn from how I intended, due to other events that have occurred - the spewing venom post explains, but I’m not quite ready to allow eyes on those words.

I could take time to go back and edit, adjust and fix the previous installments, but I won’t right now as it is a living piece. Once it retires, at least this chapter of their story, I may go back and adjust. In addition, I am considering moving this to a different site to continue. Sometime after X. The blog doesn’t seem to be the right setting anymore.

Previous chapters/posts on this story may be found here, a category I established just for locating these items.

On a side note: Aine of Decorus Poena has a desire to find erotica writers that are unafraid to produce Rape/Forced Consent pieces. Pay her a visit if you are so inclined and willing to make such a contribution.

Marco pressed the knife further into her neck, his lips curling into a mocking, sadistic smile as she stiffened further. Her breathing was quickly becoming an action she had to think about, each one planned to keep the knife from going any deeper. Her skin still felt raw from the cut on her nipple, stinging every time anything, some leftover shard of clothing, brushed it.

She sucked in her stomach, creating a hollow as he traced his fingers down along her belly. ‘Just like old times.’ He mumbled, his eyes following the path of his hand over her skin. She didn’t answer, her eyes trained on his face, watching the pupils of his. What was that in his eyes? Compassion? Warmth? She was startled as they lifted to hers again. She moistened her lips, her mouth painfully dry as she let out a slow, shuddered breath. He missed nothing, his eyes following the movements. He was an animal inside, a hunter.

He lifted the blade from her neck and held it in front of her eyes, twisting it slightly to admire the way the light caught the edge. There was a dark stain on the very tip. ‘Except,’ he said, flicking his wrist quickly so that the blade snapped shut, ‘we didn’t need this.’ He moved, tossing the blade several feet away where it landed with a dull thump on another of the thick area rugs. She said nothing as his complete attention moved back to her, his palm making small, lazy circles on her belly. Her skin felt hot, her entire body felt as if it was going to set on fire.

She closed her eyes against the penetrating black stare of his. His laughter was soft in her ears, the vibration of his chest, echoed on her body. His nails curled into her skin, and a tingle erupted in their wake. Another broken sound escaped her and her eyes flared open, meeting his again. ‘No.’ It was another whisper, spoken so softly she didn’t think he heard it. His smile deepened, never reaching his cold eyes and she wondered if his face was the last his victims saw before he pulled the trigger, or did what God only knew. Inside he was a killer, a rapist, a monster and his warmth was only part of the illusion, a mask he wore.

There was no compassion in him. He was barely human.

His hand moved lower and cupped her through the soft, white lace of her panties. Her teeth gritted together, her eyes moving to focus on painting, with stunning red flowers. How had she not seen it before? He moved, his lips nuzzling her ear, a mimic of a gesture she recalled, at one time, enjoying. His lips brushed her skin lightly and goosebumps erupted. She felt her nipples harden and hated it. Hated that he would see that as some sort of arousal. Hated that she had so little control despite the disgust she felt.

She felt nothing. Nothing! Nothing! NOTHING! She screamed the word in her head as his palm began to finally move on her mound. His lips were making dusty, airy kisses on her shoulder. Her eyes wanted to close, but she kept them open, staring at that painting until they began to burn and water. He shifted slightly, his hand moving up until his fingers played at the edge of the thin lace barrier. She felt his mouth open, but the slow numbness that was consuming her dulled her memory, her reaction to the movement.

It was then she felt his teeth on her skin in nearly the same place she had bitten him. They sank in, digging in with more viciousness, more ferocity than she expected. She cried out, his head drawing back, her skin in his mouth as he twisted, tearing the flesh before he released her. Pain exploded behind her eyelids, one hand coming up to press against the bleeding wound, the other to curl into his bicep. Words echoed in her mind. Lex talionis. It was his favorite saying.

She opened them again as he curled his fingers into the fabric and gave two hard pulls, jerking on the material until it left her body. Cool air once again met hot skin and she turned her head away as he moved above her, parting her thighs with his, pushing them wider with his palms. She cried out again, hearing the soft sound of a zipper above the roar of blood in her head. She stared at the painting, the reds and blacks and oranges bleeding together in a myriad of color, blended by the tears in her eyes.

His fingers parted her lips of her sex and she heard a satisfied growl that only deepened the flush that stained her entire body. She felt the head of his cock press against her, pausing there, resting in the opening folds of her slit. She blinked, tears sliding down her cheek, the painting resuming its shape for mere fractions of a second before tears welled again and made the colors blur. Why didn’t I go to the police back then?

‘Look at me.’ He hissed the words out between his teeth from above her, poised, his palms pressing into the floor on either side of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and then turned her head, opening them and following the line of his neck up to his own eyes which bore down into her. His lower body moved and she felt him push into her, her own eyes starting to shut when she felt his thumb brush the wound. ‘No!’ He whispered fervently, ‘No escape.’

‘Look at me, bella.’

A silent threat, a vocal endearment, but the pain from the bite was still a fresh scream in her head and it worked. She stared into his eyes as he sank further into her body, stretching the damp walls until he was seated, his cock throbbing inside her. She moaned. It wasn’t a sound of pleasure, but absolute defeat, she was being raped. She would no longer be the same.

There was pleasure in the small details of his face, the way his pupils dilated, the small sheen of sweat that broke on his brow - enjoyment he stole from her unwilling body. Bitterness welled inside her and she reacted with anger, shoving him back, her palms striking him just above where his heart should have been, the wound she had made high on his chest. He reared back and she saw the mistake she made because the beast appeared, the devil that was always just below the surface. He moved but only grabbed her hands, jerking them above her head, pressing them down into the carpet. His face was a mask of anger, rage - gone was the amused façade - the mocking smile.

He moved inside her, a forceful movement of his hips sent his cock driving back into her. It was a punishment, a painful reminder of just who was in control. Her body tensed, the muscles tightening in a way that only increased the painful echo in her body. Moments later, the painful lesson had eased into a rhythmic movement of his body into hers. Silence was broken only by the soft muted sounds of their breathing, the sound of moisture that eased his path inside her. She realized his game.

Moisture. The realization of what that could mean brought her back into the moment and when the sound made itself again, she arched up, struggling against the hold he had on her wrists. Her head turned from side to side, thrashing on the floor, her hair spread wildly underneath her body. Her feet pressed against the floor, bucking up, but that only served to drive him deeper into her. His fingers tightened on her wrists, her bruised body aching with pain and the bitter self-hate that the moisture brought with it.

Marco’s movements increased slowly and she could feel the burn of his gaze piercing hers. She finally dropped her gaze and could see the smooth ripple of muscle under his skin of his arms, his chest. She saw the smooth, round scar at his collarbone, the jagged line of scars on his stomach - reminders of his life, that he was no tender lover. He leaned closer to her, his fingers moving from her wrists. One hand cupped her head and lifted it, she glanced up, and then followed his gaze down to where his body joined hers.

She slammed her eyes shut, turning her face into the hand, the arm that lifted her - the body that belonged to her rapist. The man that even now, knowing her resistance to him, moved inside her, stretched her cunt open. He grunted, a soft sound of pleasure and it triggered another memory. It flooded her brain and fresh, hot tears streaked down her face again.

…him laughing as he leaned down to kiss her…

He thrust harder, closing his eyes as he quickened the pace, their bodies joining in a soft slap of skin and moisture. His chin lifted, and she could no longer see the dark abyss of his gaze. Her hands moved, bracing on the smooth thick columns of his arms. She closed her eyes and curled her nails into the skin, knowing what it could cost her in pain, unable to keep from putting up one final resistance. Her nails raked down along his forearms and his head snapped down as he stared into her face, thrusting one last time into her slick cunt. She felt him erupt deep, the flood of moisture and heat that burned and scalded inside her.

He collapsed on her, pressing her body into the carpet. The rhythm of his heartbeat throbbing, echoing with her own. His breath was a dewy wave against her, his sweat clinging to her skin. He lay there for a long moment, still joined with her. It was a moment of peace, deceptive, lying, peace.

He moved from her and stood a second later, taking a moment to straighten his slacks, check the cuts she made on his arms. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died as she rolled into a ball and began to sob.